


Nightmares and Dreams

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Batdad, Bonding, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Cream, Nightmare, late night movie time, movies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:04:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Bruce dreams that Damian is still dead. When after one of these night mares he goes to check on his son he finds Damian not in his room, but in the kitchen. So Bruce does the only thing he can thing of, he joins his son for some late night ice cream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares and Dreams

The manor was quiet this late at night. It was a still kind of quiet that usually settled Bruce, but tonight something felt off.

He decided to make one last round of the manor before going to bed himself, and stopped by each of his son’s rooms, checking in on them with a quick, silent glance, so he wouldn’t wake them. Dick was there, taking a break from his globetrotting for a few nights. Jason’s room was empty, but Bruce expected that, the Red Hood had left in the direction of his own apartment at the end of patrol that night. Tim was asleep in his bed, having been too tired to return to his own place. Duke’s light was still on, and through the door Bruce could hear the sound of pages ruffling.

He saved Damian’s room for last. His youngest’s door was closed, and the moment Bruce laid his hand on the knob he felt a twinge of panic in his chest, the sense that not all was well doubled as he stood there outside his son’s room.

He flung the door open and found the room still, silent, and completely unoccupied. Damian wasn’t in the room. He hadn’t been there for a long time. Alfred kept the cobwebs from setting in, and the dust from ever sticking, but the room was unused. It had been since that rainy night.

Then he was seeing it happen again, seeing his son broken and run through on the order of his own mother. Murdered by the woman Bruce had once thought he could love. Her laughter filled his ears, bitter, and almost joyful. Words came next, baiting him, telling him of how he’d failed, how this was his fault, how he’d never have the chance to see his son grow up.

He squeezed his eyes shut against it, and clamped his hands over his ears as if either attempt would stop the assault, would change the fact that his son was gone.

And then he was awake, panting, sweating, and more exhausted than he’d been when he’d fallen into bed hours ago. He pushed his hair back and stilled his breathing with deep even breaths. A nightmare, it had only been a nightmare.

Damian was fine. He was safe, asleep in his room. Bruce himself had tucked him in that night, exhausted after patrol Damian had fallen asleep in the Batmobile. He was fine.

Bruce turned onto his side and adjusted his comforter, he wasn’t going to let the nightmare steal the rest of his sleep tonight. He closed his eyes and a moment later opened them again.

What if Damian wasn’t fine? What if he wasn’t just down the hall? Bruce knew his son was alive, the same way he knew Alfred was alive, but there was a nagging doubt, a worm of fear that had crept in. A whisper of what if.

He flung back the comforter and stood, sleep forgotten. He was in the hallway before he paused with the thought of how silly it all was. He was letting his mind play tricks on him. But on the same note, it never hurt to check in on Damian.

By the time he made it to Damian’s room he’d convinced himself that everything was ok, and that he was overacting to the nightmare, but as his hand went to the door he couldn’t help but feel like he was back in his nightmare. 

He stood in the same place, his hand on the doorknob and his heart was racing again. His son was fine. He repeated it like a mantra in his mind over and over as he turned the knob and pushed the door open gently.

Damian wasn't there.

Bruce knew it the moment he had the door open. A spark of panic shot through him, and his hand gripped the knob tighter. It couldn't be true, he knew his son was alive. Bruce took a deep, stilling breath and really looked at the room, noting all the things that made it different from the one in his dream. This time, his room felt lived in, the bed sheets were tugged up almost as an afterthought it’s occupant not sure if he’d make it back or not, the easel stood closer to the window, a half covered canvas sitting on it, and a book rested precariously on the nightstand, half on half off the wood, poised to fall at any moment.

The panic faded a little, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to dispel it completely until he laid eyes on his son. Alive and well. He stepped back, closing the door after him, and made his way towards the kitchen. It was the likeliest place for Damian to be, that or the cave, but Bruce was hoping Damian was only thirsty and not working off excess energy.

The dim blue light of the refrigerator met him at the door to the kitchen. Someone stood just out of view behind the appliance’s open door and Bruce he knocked lightly on one of the walls to get their attention. Damian peered around the side of the open fridge door, eyes tired and hair mussed.

The tight worry in his chest eased at seeing Damian. Bruce let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, and smiled.

“Father? What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he answered stepping into the kitchen.

His son frowned, “Couldn’t sleep.”

Maybe, Bruce thought. What was far more likely was that he’d had a nightmare himself. Patrol had taken a lot out of him, so much so that he'd passed out before they'd even made it home. Experience told Bruce that the only thing that could wake him up out of that kind of exhaustion was a nightmare. He hated that his son, that all his children, suffered from them. At least tonight he could do something about it. 

“Me too,” Bruce stepped beside Damian to look at the contents of the fridge, “What are we looking for?”

“Nothing in here.”

The words were said with the distaste of someone not sure what they were searching for, but who knew it wasn’t any part of what they were seeing. Bruce could relate, it wasn’t often he craved Alfred’s selection of healthy midnight snacks, even if they were chosen for their ability to help one sleep.

“I agree,” he tugged the door out of Damian’s hand and closed it, before cracking open the freezer. The cool air wafted out in a smoky haze lit by the freezer’s single light, “If I remember correctly there’s a stash of butterscotch ripple ice cream back here.”

He reached into the freezer and moved things around until he lifted a bag of frozen vegetables to reveal a tub of ice cream, he glanced back over his shoulder at Damian, “You grab us some bowls and I’ll find the scoop.”

Soon, father and son were seated on a couch in one of the manor’s smaller living rooms, the television turned on to the channel it’s last viewer had been on, the SciFi network. Bruce guessed it had been Jason, or maybe Tim and Steph, who’d last used the room.

Damian frowned at the television, the spoon in his mouth following the action as it’s end dipped towards his chin. He tugged it free and turned to Bruce, “What are we watching?”

Bruce leaned back and smiled, “Only the best in late night tv. I think the display said this movie’s titled Rhinosaur versus Mega Shark.”

At that Damian’s frown deepened into a scowl, “I don’t see how viewing a fictionalized account of an overgrown rhino fighting a shark is a good use of our time.”

“A good use of our time would be sleeping, but since neither of us are having luck in that department this is the next best thing. It’s mindless and enjoyable,” Bruce punctuated his statement by taking a bite of his own ice cream.

Damian’s frown softened, and he looked for a moment like he was going to agree with Bruce. That is until the ‘rhinosaur’ came on the screen. It was clearly a prop, and Bruce had to stifle laughter at the increasingly bad cgi being displayed on the television, Damian didn’t seem to find it nearly as funny as his scowl returned.

“This is the furthest thing from enjoyable, Father. I could create better monsters than this.”

“Reality isn’t the point of these movies.”

“Then what is?” The question had lost the hard edge of irritation he earlier statements had carried, replaced by genuine curiosity.

Bruce couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that his son still didn’t understand little things like making fun of stupid movies, and doing things for the simple fact that one could. Everything was always a lesson, some kind of opportunity to learn more.

He almost wanted to thank Talia for keeping Damian so sheltered. Bruce had missed out on so much of his son’s childhood that it was a relief to find things he could still teach him, even if he was just teaching him how to enjoy a silly late night movie.

“The point is to enjoy an hour or so with your dad, while making fun of a very bad film.”

“Well it’s a terrible movie. That is not how a man’s arm comes off.” Damian pointed his spoon towards the screen. Bruce noticed that he had half a smile as he said it.

“If you think that’s bad, wait until the army starts trying to destroy the giant rhino.”

Soon enough Damian joined Bruce in making fun of it, and laughed outright at more than one scene. He fell asleep shortly before the end, leaning more and more on Bruce until he passed out. Bruce clicked the tv off with the remote and bundled Damian into his arms, making a note to come back for the ice cream bowls after he tucked the boy back in.

When he got back to Damian’s room he laid his son in bed before leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead, “Goodnight, Damian.”

“Goodnight, Father,” Damian murmured back, his voice heavy with sleep.

Bruce pulled his comforter over Damian and let his hand rest on the boy’s chest, just above his heart for a few moments. Allowing the comforting regular beats of his son’s heart to erase any lingering traces of his own nightmare. Then he turned and left the room, pausing only to whisper, “Sweet dreams, son,” before closing the door carefully behind him.


End file.
